A BOOK REVIEW
PREAMBLE
Was this
“The kiss in Collins eyes”
[that] ::::
“Haunts me night and day”?
(as in “The Look” by Sara Teasdale)
No, this kiss belongs to a more recent event and in a different clime, though the Missouri-born lyric poet, Sara, lived in New York, as does Rudolf.
Anyone who has read any of his works, as I have for three decades, knows that Rudolf has a way with words. He tapped into Igbo idioms and spirituality, extensive experiences, undiluted understanding of politics and society, his engineering background, and years of media management. The result is a book of poems that has earned its place on the bedside table.
I am also fascinated by ancestral African adages, so much so that I have collected thousands of Igbo idioms. Our ancestors said everything there is to be said about the philosophy of life. The major problem is that many writers have not mastered the imposed vernaculars of European colonists to the point of producing apt English equivalents or French forms. Now you know the genius of Chinua Achebe: He decided to serve some pop idioms in a simple sauce of captivating clauses.
Rudolf served a good one in why the heart of humans is not so smart: “When we’re somewhere, we long for where we are not.” (As Oliver de Coque sang: “Onye nọrọ ebe ọ nọ, ebe ọ na-anọghị ana-agụ ya.”) We long to go to an imaginary heaven in the skies while we screw up real heaven is on earth! He followed up by declaring that “Tomorrow is just another yesterday on its way” (a true reflection of “echi gara aga.”) [21]
LOVE
Rudolf begins with an “Author’s Note” in which he notes that men (and women, I must add) “express extreme passion when they are in love and when they are contemplating suicide” since “both spring from the same lake of madness.” I don’t know about suicide; my culture abhors it. Of love, I agree: “Love is a passing psychosis.” [Nnenna, 74] Love is indeed a momentary mental mess in a spectrum all its own.
In “Invitation to Madness,’ we read:
Love is agwu
Especially when it is dangerous.
Even when it hurts,
There is a divine purpose why it exits. [62]
Also,
Willpower is helpless when imprisoned by love.
Love is an addiction like no other. [34]
I noted way back in primary school that love is all things to all people; to no two is it the same. St. Paul devoted 1 Corinthians 13 to describing love and still failed to give an exact meaning. King Solomon in Songs of Songs still could not nail it…. not even with hundreds of wives and flings, including Makeda the Queen of Sheba.
MADNESS
Rudolf Okonkwo is driven by Agwụ, the patron spirit of creativity. The term is often misused in its blanket application to any behavior that is not mainstream. We accept it as ‘madness’ because many think it is abnormal. What if the ‘mad’ is sane? We are all mad; the degree of madness depends on where we find ourselves on the sanity-insanity spectrum: Some are at the far end of the spectrum; others, in-between.
From the get-go (Page 7?), he lets go of a missile across the Strait of Hormuz:
“A madman looking forward leaps through the hoop like a dancing mantis to become a poet. And a poet who looks backward spins webs like a spider crawling back into madness.”
So, a poet who looks back becomes a madman, whereas a madman who looks forward becomes a poet. Interesting!
Ex-Governor Peter Obi crowned a certain madman as a philosopher worthy of an ear to the ground, for one who listens carefully hears the chants of ants. (This Igbo idiom got Chuba Okadigbo into the “ranting of an ant” false funk that sustains!
Major Igbo markets have resident madmen. They often offer philosophical phrases that become pop expressions. For example: “The Madman of Nkwọ Okwe posited that madness comes in different designs; that’s why there is no association of madmen.”
THE KISS
In this book, Rudolf flies beyond the south side of the Moon and, often, away from human reality. It’s no wonder the title piece, “The Kiss That Never Was” requires repeated reading. You enjoy the work but wonder what it was all about: fact or fiction?
For a reason that is now known, Rudolf extracted this work from an unpublished novel format. It will still make a great read that could entice Hollywood or Nollywood, minimally. The killing of Uwalaka 30 years ago was especially haunting. Sadly, more Uwalakas may be murdered needlessly in 2027.
HE DIED FOR ME
Th story of Bruce Maylock is the stuff with which religions are set up: A Jew dies a martyr for people he never knew. His death and that of many millions starved to death by the actions and inactions of Nigeria’s notorious prodigal parent (Yakubu Gowon) remain a stinking stain on a banner that neither distance nor time will heal.
He died for me.
He did not have to
But he did
Because nobody listened
And nobody is listening even now. [53]
No one is listening even as the same scenarios that caused the human tragedy builds up daily in Nigeria. It is for this reason, to avoid a repeat, that I instituted the Nigerian-Biafra War Memorial Lectures in 1996. Contrary to my explicit intention, we relive it.
Throughout the book, Rudolf has nuggets of quotable quotes, anecdotes, and phrases that relay voices from beyond our realm.
I can’t sit in my room and crush my testicles.
Emergency surpasses the brave;
Emergency is ::: a test of bravery.
If [the penis] dies not prematurely
It will eat that beaded snail. [69]
This is the sort of speak that makes a Hausa man to scream, “Haba!” Alas, Buhari won’t eat that snail, for his “prick is too small.” [81] This is a great eulogy for the those massacred at the Lekki tollgate during 2020 EndSARS (Soro Soke) protest. “The Hague is calling,” but Buhari won’t be here to answer. Gowon is, but who will catch him: The hunter tells the tale of the hunt, not the hunted.
In “Wait, Make I Baff” [70] Rudolf tries a Mamman Vatsa poetri jam. The image of a woman suckling her one-month-old “pikin” with two nipples in the mouth is hilarious and possible. You wonder why, of course; me too! Here he uses “yansh”; the editors probably forgot that OED had listed ‘nyash’ as the English equivalent, thanks to Nollywood usage.
The book is an easy read but, do not be deceived; it is deep. You formulate your own understanding. It does not end there: You must dig deeper in history and in current affairs to get the full gist, especially in “He Died for Me,” “I See the Traps Set for Me,” and “Aba Ngwa” of TA Orji era. [77]
The cover is comely. The wilting bouquet of flowers aptly depicts love that blossomed but did not sustain nor attain the fullness of whatever the lover expected: A kiss that never was? The typesetting is neat. A minor mistake to correct easily in future POD editions: “A Kiss That Never Was” is on page 23, not on blank 22—as indicated in “Contents.” Only a publisher would notice; I did.
Rudolf has written a serious book to peruse and ponder what would happen when “our black gold is gone—Gone with its heavenly curse.”
For now,
Let someone advertise our poverty
To those who love the word liberty,
And stop borrowing foreign insanity
In exchange for our nation’s sovereignty. [84]
I recommend the book. The poems, prophecies, and proposals will offer you the enjoyment of written words and thought-provoking perceptions.
Sara Teasdale won a Pulitzer Prize for her poetry collection, Love Songs (1917). May Rudolf nail literary awards for this collection and, when the kiss happens, may he return with “The Kiss That Never Ends.”
Edechee m!
@OkaaMoe
Sun, April 12, 2026
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